Boy with a Broken Halo
by RedEyedEdward
Summary: I haven't called myself a Masen since I legally claimed my parents' estate. I haven't been a Cullen since I broke Carlisle's cardinal rule. When I meet her, the only thing I can call myself is ruined.


**Red Eyed Edward Contest**

 **Title:** Boy with a Broken Halo

 **Word Count:** 14,844

 **Rating:** M

 **Summary:** I haven't called myself a Masen since I legally claimed my parents' estate. I haven't been a Cullen since I broke Carlisle's cardinal rule. When I meet _her_ , the only thing I can call myself is ruined.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

~Boy with a Broken Halo~

My mother's smile is brittle, like antique lace.

Pale, yellowed white. Flaking at the edges, but no less beautiful for its obvious decay.

"You'll get better," she breathes weakly. "The angel promised he'd save you. I'm only sorry I won't be here to see it."

Though dull and glassy, there's still fight in her red-rimmed eyes — but it's not for herself. She has a basketful of delusional hopes for me, but she's given up on herself. A weak, wracking cough seizes her chest. She rolls to her side, doubling over on the filthy cot. Blood, bright like a flame, dots the corner of her mouth, smears the back of her hand when she wipes it away.

At least we _have_ cots. My family's status affords us certain privileges, even while we lay dying. Those less fortunate are left to die in alleyways filled with filthy snow and fetid garbage.

"Of course, Mother." The lie tumbles from my lips like April snowflakes in Chicago — fallen and gone in a matter of seconds. Anything to set her mind at ease, here in these last moments.

My voice is weak and every breath crackles in my chest. While I'll outlive my parents, I won't be an orphan for long. I stare at the ceiling, eyes unfocused as I dream of all the things I'll never have. A career, a family of my own… a woman.

Mother has fallen into a fitful sleep, her shallow, rattling breaths the only sign of life. She's pale as death, her lank hair matted and dark with sweat. The bruises beneath her eyes make her look ten years older, and the gauntness of her cheeks lends her a skeletal appearance.

Here, dying seems easy. It's living that's miserable _._

"Rest easy. It will all be over soon." A man lays a cool hand on my brow, the contact like heaven on my fevered skin.

Cracking my eyes open, I find a familiar young doctor peering down at me. Desperate, I try to convey with my eyes what I don't have the strength to say with words: _let me die._

"I can help you," he says, pressing a clammy rag to my forehead.

I close my eyes again and smile in relief. Finally at peace, I give myself up to Death.

= # =

I wake in a bed of flames. Voices surround me, lick at my mind as the fire crackles against my skin. Thoughts of the dying and the loved ones that lament them batter my brain, battle with the worries of those charged with caring for them.

The inferno flares deep as I am lifted, easily carried away in a pair of strong arms.

What I've done to deserve Hell, I cannot remember, but it's entirely possible I am there.

= # =

There's a fire in my throat and a cacophony in my head. Consumed with an unquenchable thirst, I'm desperate for silence.

Months pass before I'm able to filter out the noise. The thirst, however, never stops.

Decades of brutal self-restraint follow, and I toe the very edge of the pedestal where Carlisle placed me, playing the dutiful son.

He has no idea — he cannot hear my thoughts like I hear his. If he could, he'd rip me apart and burn the pieces.

I am not content. I am not… _good._ Not like him.

The desire to live among humans, among _anyone,_ is nowhere within me. The constant murmur of voices threatens to drive me insane. Carlisle tells me I can learn to temper it, learn to control what he calls a _gift._

I call it a curse.

Most people I encounter live-stream nothing but thoughts of themselves. Even others of my kind aren't exempt. Immortality and ego go hand in hand among most vampires.

The worst of all, however, are the humans.

Their thoughts burrow and scratch and root themselves so deep I can never dig them out — the worst of which make me wish I could build a wall around my brain. They're the ones that breach the dam, spill venom over my tongue in a wash of rage and vengeance.

It's not often that I encounter such a specimen, but when I do it's almost impossible to ignore. There's an itch beneath my skin, a tingle on my tongue, a longing to taste the blood of those who spill it. Animal blood just can't compare.

After all, why should I spare those who do not extend the same courtesy to their own kind?

= # =

Since I made the decision to leave, I've ended more lives than I can count.

I tried. I tried so hard to be one of them — a righteous Cullen, just like the other projects Carlisle collected along the way. Even surrounded by friends, I was still alone. Now, decades later, we trade postcards, texts, and the occasional phone call, strung between long, awkward silences.

Since I walked away and wished my family a happy life, I've spent my days and nights cleansing the streets of the most vile specimens of humanity.

 _Humanity_ … such a misnomer.

On the whole, I've never encountered a species less humane. Animals hunt for food. Kill to survive. But there are humans and vampires who kill for sport. Torture for fun. Exploit and molest simply because it pleases them. The Italians may keep me from taking out the other vampires, but I can erase their human counterparts from the planet without conscience.

Don't mistake me for a hero. I'm the bad guy. My prey might say I make Freddy Krueger look like a kitten.

I'm a nightmare disguised as an angel.

When I come calling — please, try to run. Try to hide. Try to fight. I like a good chase. A nice, bloody fight. I love what I do.

And I like to play with my food.

= # =

I don't take innocents.

I never have, out of respect for Carlisle. I can't hear this one's thoughts, but I know that's what she is. I can see it in her wide, dark eyes, the way she stares at me in terror and disbelief. Her full lips part in the slightest quiver as tears well, but don't fall. The poor girl seems to be in shock. Really, who can blame her?

I'm not supposed to exist.

Bad luck for her — I am very real.

Bad luck for me — I think I'm about to break my promise.

Savoring the remaining mouthfuls of blood, I sigh in pleasure as the man's heart stops. Relief swamps me as his last pathetic thoughts abruptly cut off, and I drop the drained corpse like the human trash he was.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I go to the girl at a slow pace, taking advantage of her shock.

I'm not thirsty, but I can't stop myself. Even more than the blissful absence of a constant barrage of mundane thoughts running through her head, there's something about this girl that calls to me, and I'm powerless to stay away. It's like she's a magnet, compelling me forward by the very laws of nature.

It's unfortunate, really. I _could_ just disappear, leaving her to call 911 and try to explain what exactly she saw tonight, but I won't. She smells too delectable, and the lingering taste of blood in my mouth amplifies the predator in me. I don't _want_ to let her go.

I'm not entirely sure what I'll do with her, either.

Thrusting her hands up at me, she shouts, "Don't come any closer!"

I smile. As if she could _make_ me do anything.

We do a little dance: she backs away and I advance, until she's trapped between me and the brick wall. I chuckle; she's literally between a rock and a hard place. It's a beautiful contrast, her soft warmth against my cold, stone-like frame.

I raise my hand and caress her cheekbone with gentle fingertips, letting my touch linger down and across her jaw. Because I can't help myself, I encircle her neck with my fingers and stroke her pulse point with my thumb.

Her reaction is as glorious as the silence of her mind. Her pulse gallops under my grip as a single tear falls from the outer corner of her left eye. Tormenting her is more fun than I've had in a long time.

I tilt my head to the side and murmur, "Hello, love."

She clenches her eyes shut and more tears fall. "Please. Don't." Breath leaves her body in a shuddering rush and I inhale it, closing my eyes as I savor every bit of her I can steal — until I can seize all of her. The silence of her mind alone is enough to make me want to keep her forever, even though I know it's not possible. I won't be able to resist the sweet call of her blood.

I inch closer, lowering my head until our noses touch. " _Don_ _'_ _t_ what?"

A whimper echoes in her throat as she presses her head back into the wall, exposing her neck to me. A growl rumbles in my chest and I drag the tip of my nose down to rub it over the place where her pulse pounds.

She smells absolutely divine. I trail my tongue up the line of her neck, ending at the full curve of her bottom lip. It's perverse, really, how much I enjoy her fear. I should tone it down, but she's just too delicious to stop.

"Please, let me go," she pleads, so prettily. Her voice is barely audible, or at least it would be to someone that was human.

I hear her just fine, because I am definitely not human. Pity for her, this beautiful girl. Large, deep brown eyes plead up at me, fringed by black, thick lashes. Delicate brows wing down, painted by a master's brush. Silky, dark hair eddies and flows down her back, just begging me to wrap it around my fist.

She's not going anywhere, but I still feel the need to make sure she's thoroughly enthralled. Exhaling a breath across her lips, I press my body to hers. I'm used to using every weapon in my arsenal to trap my prey — physical beauty, scent, speed, strength, the sound of my voice. This, somehow, is different. The more I entrap her, the more I find myself caught up in my own web, and I've never been so glad to be a vampire. If I were a human man, I'd have no chance at all in the face of her delicate beauty and her quiet gaze.

Lucky me. I'm the perfect predator, someone she can't possibly escape.

Lucky her, I can make sure she enjoys every moment of it.

"I think letting you go is a terrible idea," I say honestly, and then I do something that surprises the hell out of me — I kiss her.

In an instant, everything changes. Her body relaxes against mine, and what was borne in fear becomes lust. Her scent intensifies, and it's my turn to whimper. She bites my lip — _bites_ _me_ — and brings her hands up to encircle my wrists. Not to push them away, but to hold them in place. Her body arches up in supplication to mine, asking for more.

Shockingly, I find I no longer ache to taste her blood, sweet as it smells. No, my desire for her turns to complete lust, something I haven't welcomed since I was human. Wrenching my lips from hers, I stagger back, looking into sable eyes that blink away a haze of burning need.

"What are you doing?" I pant, searching her face. I begin to wonder again why I can't hear her thoughts. I didn't really question it before, but now that I can think, it bothers me. There's never been anyone immune to my talent, and I'm intrigued. How is she doing it?

"I don't know."

She sounds as disbelieving as I, and though I've released her, she doesn't run.

"Why did you kill that man? And what… what did you _do_ to him?" She shakes her head, as if she's trying to get the image out of her brain.

The least I can do is be honest. "He needed to die. I simply made sure it happened." I shrugged and shoved my hands in the pockets of my worn jeans. She had no way of knowing what kind of evil lived in his mind. Potentially, I saved quite a few lives tonight.

As the apex predator, I take out the lesser, more unscrupulous predators. It's my right. It's also my promise to the one who made me.

"But… you were _drinking_ his blood," she points out, quite obviously, in my opinion.

"I was." No point in denying it.

"Are you some kind of cannibal?"

I bark out a laugh. "I guess you could call it that."

Hands over her mouth, she whispers, "Red eyes… Oh, my God…"

Her body shakes as she scans the length of me, from face to feet and back again. I'm quite flattered that she can't keep her gaze away. For all my artificial beauty, hers is real — honest. Her eyes don't tell lies, and the blush in her cheeks hints at innocence, not artifice.

"I'm quite positive God doesn't exist," I offer helpfully, trying to suppress my amusement as I needle her. I actually do believe, but He'd certainly forsaken me a long time ago. Left me to do his dirty work.

I don't mind. I quite enjoy it at times.

A breath shudders out of her chest. "What _are_ you?"

Ah. She's in denial. I can't resist the impulse to play with her a little more. "It's not obvious?"

She swallows nervously, eyes locked on mine, and then she shakes her head.

I clap my hands together, grinning at the way she starts and squeaks in surprise as I come closer again. "Let's play a game."

"That never turns out well in horror movies." She looks shocked that she's said it. Her big eyes get wider, her heart rate thrums faster. Maybe I don't need to read her mind. She says what she thinks, no filter.

This girl. _This girl_.

I have no idea what to do with her, but I'm quite enjoying figuring it out. "Watch a lot of horror movies, do you?"

"Enough to realize when I'm in trouble."

I laugh. " _In_ trouble? You _are_ trouble."

In disbelief, she retorts, "Me? Last I checked, I'm not the one who just killed a guy."

"Yes, that is a problem. I don't like to leave witnesses." She blanches white, giving me another jolt of fear to savor, though I've lost the desire to back up my threats. I still don't know what I'm doing with her, but it would be a crime to kill this girl, and not just in the traditional sense.

"I'm no trouble, I promise. I won't breathe a word to anyone else. I had a lot to drink tonight. I probably won't even remember what happened. Some guy bought me a couple drinks…" She gasps. "That's it! I've been roofied!" Her shoulders sag in relief and her face brightens, making her sudden grin even more beautiful. "It's the only logical explanation. I'm hallucinating this whole thing. I've been reading way too many vampire romances lately," she mutters the last part to herself, shaking her head. "You drank that guy's _blood!_ Nope. No thanks. So gross."

I open my mouth to tell her it's quite enjoyable, actually, but she doesn't let me.

Her eyes come back up to my face, her gaze gone dreamy. "I've gotta hand it to myself — I've got an amazing imagination. God, you're hot."

"Thank you?" I'm not sure why it comes out as a question. Her thought processes intrigue me, and not just because I can't read her mind. I'm getting the feeling that even if I was privy to her thoughts, I might still be surprised.

"Shit. I kissed you. After you drank blood. Ugh!" She frowns, staring at my mouth. "Why do I want to do it again? I really shouldn't…"

This time, she's the one who closes the distance between us. I'm the one with my back to the wall now. She stops just millimeters away from me, and I briefly panic that she's changing her mind. The heat from her body makes my skin come alive, my hands positively itch with the need to crush her against me and bury my face in her neck.

She's turned this whole situation upside-down, and I find I can't complain a bit.

Giving in to my most primal desires, I grab her by the hips and yank her up to my chest. With her small, round tits pressed up against me, the rest of her body glued to the length of mine, I'm in heaven.

 _Since when did I start believing in heaven again?_

With a sly grin, she links her arms behind my neck. "I'm gonna make the most of this crazy roofie dream."

As her mouth lands on mine I respond helplessly, hoping desperately that I can keep from putting my teeth on her.

 _If I can keep the venom out of her bloodstream, she won_ _'_ _t change. I can take a pint or so_ _…_ _like a blood drive._

Where that thought comes from, I have no idea. Is my brain so used to hearing thoughts that it will supply its own in lack of hers?

More importantly, is it true?

Can I taste her that way, if I'm careful?

Now that the idea is in my mind, I can't let it go. Sliding my hands up over her hips, I slowly traverse her waist, let my fingertips trip up the ladder of her ribs, graze the sides of her tits with my palms. I'm a champion of physical restraint — I don't cup her in my hands and squeeze, like I want to. When I reach her hair, I hold her still and barely part my lips in response to her kisses. She delicately licks at my lower lip and I meet her halfway. A touch of tongues, a leap of faith, too close but not close enough.

Her taste, faint as it is compared to what I _really_ want, has me sighing into her, and knowing that tiny sample should be enough doesn't mean I'm not going to push for more. Because it _should_ be possible. There wouldn't be stories of vampires feeding off humans at all if it wasn't — they'd have never lived to tell the tale.

I'm a bit pissed that she put herself in a dangerous situation, walking through a dark alley alone. Someone worse than me could have found her. Another, less humane individual, vampire or human, with a little more evil in them. I, at least, possess enough scruples to eat only the rude.

She's lucky I found her.

I don't _want_ to hurt this girl. I want to _own_ her.

Catcalls cut through the silence from the mouth of the alley, trailed by boyish laughter as a group of human males pass by. My brave little human pulls away, giggling as she rests her forehead on my shoulder. Giggling would be quite obnoxious if it was anyone else, but on her I find it strangely adorable. I want to take her somewhere private and see what other kinds of sounds I can get out of her.

One problem — I haven't had the chance to dispose of my prey yet. Important, considering the corpse sports a few sets of teeth marks that would raise a lot of fucking questions with the police.

Pulling back to meet my eyes, she says, "So… this is my fantasy, so of course you have a luxury penthouse somewhere nearby. I might as well go completely over the top."

I hold back a laugh at her proclamation — she's right. I do have a penthouse, just a ten-minute run away. Carlisle taught me to manage my money well. Being able to hear the thoughts of anyone I work with has proved quite lucrative in fund management. When I'm well-fed and equipped with a pair of contacts that turn my red eyes to golden, I'm able to make deals that would have the SEC breathing down my neck in seconds. I give the term "insider trading" an entirely new definition.

Dialing back the wide grin that threatens to take over my face, I ask, "You want to come _home_ with me?"

"Of course." The woman is crazy — and serious. "We're doing things my way, so yes, I do. Take me back to your penthouse, rip all my clothes off, and fuck me. That's what happens in those books, so that's what I want. I _need_ this."

She paints a pretty picture, but can I keep from going nuts and draining her dry?

Who am I kidding? I'm a 114-year-old virgin. I'd be a complete fool to pass up this chance.

I've spent more than a century thinking I'd never find a person I could stand to sleep with. Being that close to anyone makes it almost impossible to block out their thoughts, and then I'm flooded with images of myself. It's an experience I don't want to repeat.

With this girl, things might be different.

My decision is made. "We'll take the shortcut. I'll have to carry you."

"That's totally book-worthy," she breathes, and I can't resist planting another one on her.

The kiss lasts longer than I intend, but she's just so soft and warm and kisses me like she can't get enough. I'm a little rougher than I want to be, squeeze a bit too hard as I learn just what her fragile human body can take.

But before I can make her mine, I need to take care of loose ends. "I have something to do before we can go."

Her eyes flick behind my shoulder and she goes a little pale. "You said he wasn't a good guy."

"No."

"Dr. Evil evil or Jeffrey Dahmer evil?"

"The latter. Maybe worse. He's been at it a decade longer than Dahmer." And I so enjoyed making him squirm.

She takes a quick breath and shakes her head. "Wow. Okay." Then she asks, "Um… If you don't mind, can I wait for you in the bar?" She grabs my hand, tugging on me so I'll follow her back to the entrance.

As we go, I find myself wondering if I'm not the one experiencing hallucinations. Since when do women like this one fall into my lap? She saw me draining a guy, knows what I am, and despite her initial freak-out, seems to be okay with it. Bonus: I can't read her mind. Double bonus: she literally asked me to take her back to my place and fuck her.

I choose to disregard the fact that she believes she's having one hell of a roofie dream. I'm a blood-drinking demon, after all. If I won't draw the line at murder, I'm certainly not going to let a little ethical dilemma get in my way.

When we reach the door I pull on our hands, bringing her into a hug. "See you inside. Twenty minutes, tops." I whisper it in her ear, enjoying the way she shivers in response. "Don't even think about leaving without me."

= # =

The instant I walk through the door eighteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds later, I know exactly where to find her.

I've never been so attracted to a single source of blood like I am to hers. Though it's all appealing, hers virtually stops me cold. The instincts she evokes in me — kill and protect, take and give — threaten to obliterate all my hard-won self-control. How could I not know exactly where she is, even if I'm not sure if the message is to run the hell away or keep her closer than an enemy?

How fucked up is that?

More importantly, why did Carlisle not tell me this was possible? Wasn't it a topic important enough to discuss in the years we lived as father and son? A guy could use some warning.

Seated in a dark little corner, she probably thinks she's invisible there, scrolling through her phone. In reality, I count three men — boys, really — staring openly, and another two sneaking glances. All of them look like creeps. Wasting no time, I cross straight to her table. She's at one of those bar-height round things with a couple mismatched bar stools. I catch glimpses of myself from the minds of my competition as I reach her side, where I stand close enough to make it obvious — she's mine. I hear their disappointment as it sinks in.

Message received.

I draw my finger through the condensation on her glass, then give her my full attention and ask, "Just water?"

A tiny smile plays at her lips as she puts her phone in her pocket. "Gotta stay hydrated."

Cheesy as it is, I get a little laugh out of it. "True, though some of us have to work a little harder than others." I shift closer and duck my head so she can hear better. "Tell me, have you come to your senses yet?"

She grins. "Nope. Now take me home, Dark Lord," she replies.

I sigh. "Call me that again and I might leave without you." I'm not as irritated as I'm trying to appear. Sparring with her is rapidly becoming more satisfying than many of my recent hunts.

"If I can't call you Dark Lord, what _can_ I call you?"

I hesitate, years of covering my tracks kicking in. No human has known my name — and lived — in a very long time. In the end, I decide I don't really care if she can trace me. I'll gladly be found if she's the one looking for me. "My name is Edward."

She tilts her head to the side with a flirty smile. "No last name?"

I haven't been a Masen since I legally claimed my parents' estate when I was twenty-two, four years after my transformation. I haven't called myself a Cullen since I strayed from Carlisle's cardinal rule. Am I worthy of the name when I'm not following all of the man's rules? I want to think I am, but it's hard to know when I haven't seen him in more than three decades. I'm sure we've both changed. The years flow by like water in a stream, some like whitewater and some lazy. But they don't stop coming.

I decide on the nomad custom of first name only. "Just Edward."

Then it hits me, and I feel like an idiot for not asking before. "What about you? What should I call you, love?"

She blushes pink and looks down, and I don't know what the hell's happened to me, but that tiny glimpse of shyness is just one of many things that have me dying to get her alone.

"Bella. Short for Isabella. Just Bella, though." She finally stops talking and grabs her drink.

I like this more timid side of her too. I like all her sides.

"I like your name. It's very pretty. It suits you." It also means "beautiful" in Italian, but I won't be the cheesy douche who actually says it. I'm sure she's heard it many times, from a bunch of unoriginal man-boys who won't ever come close to deserving her.

"Thanks." She fixes her eyes right on mine, the eye contact triggering a purely animal rush of excitement. "So, are we gonna get out of here, or what?" Her voice gets richer, the air gets thicker, and her bravado is back. How could I ever think she was timid? She's a fucking tigress.

"You don't think we should stay a while and get to know each other, Bella?" It feels nice to say her name. I especially like the way her heartbeat speeds up when I say it.

With an innocent look, she says, "Do you have anything against snuggling in bed? Afterward? Because I'd really like to get to the main event."

As much as I share her opinion on the evening, I don't even want to think about how soon "afterward" could potentially be. For all I know, I'm a two-pump chump. If that's the case, at least my stamina ensures I'll never get tired. I can keep going until she gets off or begs me to stop.

"Bella…" I lower my voice and, just as I planned, she leans closer. I cover her hands with one of mine on top of the table. Then I say suggestively, "In my world, beds aren't intended for talking… or sleeping."

Her pretty mouth drops open, making me think of putting my cock in there. I clench my hands in fists below the table, trying to reorient myself. It wouldn't do to pull her into my lap right here in the bar. And as much as I'm looking forward to being alone with her, I want to know her too. Her pet peeves. Her guilty pleasures. Most of all, her secrets. It's only fair — she knows mine.

"Let's play a game. Twenty questions."

The quick shift in her expression is almost comical. She's not pleased with this turn of events.

"Really? That's kind of lame."

"I just want to know you," I say with an exasperated laugh.

"By asking me a bunch of yes or no questions? Wouldn't you rather get to know me in the Biblical sense?" She tries and fails to stifle a wide grin, finally just shrugging in surrender.

Yes, I would, but I'm still not sure I can keep from harming her if bloodlust overpowers regular, old-fashioned lust. I settle for a slight shake of my head.

She rolls her eyes, but the grin still tweaks the corner of her lips. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

She's a little smart ass, is what she is. Which is another reason I'm pushing for conversation when I could be keeping that smart mouth occupied by a more intimate activity. I've always enjoyed the thrill of the chase. Even when the prey is a sure thing.

"We'll get to that." I pull up the other stool and take a seat so close our knees touch. Planting an elbow on the tiny table, I angle myself close. Get in her personal space. "Where are you from, Bella? Is there anyone who'll miss you come morning?" _Just in case you don_ _'_ _t make it back home_.

"I'm from a small town in Washington state. Forks, population 3000 and change. My dad was a cop — he was killed on the job three years ago, just after I started sophomore year here at Northwestern. It's hard for me to talk about. That part of my life, it's over. I'm not going back — there's no real reason to dwell on it. My mom left when I was just a baby, so Dad was the only connection I had left to Washington." Hands curved in fists, she stares down at her white knuckles. "Dad worked a lot, so I've always been good at taking care of myself. And as of last month, I'm twenty-three. Legal to vote, drink, gamble and still young enough to enjoy all three." Looking up at me with determination, she asks, "Can you see why I don't want to talk about it?" The playful light in her eyes has dimmed, and she sits up a little straighter, putting more space between us.

When it hits me, I feel like a complete idiot for not noticing that all her jokes are just a self-defense mechanism — a happy face to avoid the serious questions. I get the feeling she doesn't talk about her past much at all.

Something we have in common.

"I'm sorry." I really am. Part of me wishes I could protect her from pain like that. The rest of me knows life doesn't do anyone any favors. I cover her hand with one of mine. "I can't help being curious about you. Interesting people are so rare." I want to be closer to her, wish I could wedge myself between those knees and kiss her pain away. I let my fingers trace the delicate bones of her hand, trying to ignore the web of pale-blue veins beneath her soft skin. "We can go now, if you really want. But I enjoy talking to you." It's true. I've never felt so comfortable around a person in my life.

I have trouble finding a comparison in my long list of memories, but the closest I can find are the blurry recollections of a young child who loved his mother. That was more than a lifetime ago; that boy is long gone.

No, being with Bella is new and raw, like a fresh wound — something I haven't had in almost a century.

"It's okay." A tremulous smile pulls at her lips. "We can stay for a while."

I return her smile and ask, "What do you think of Chicago?" The place of my birth. My life. My death. And most recently… whatever _this_ is.

"It's freezing in the winter," she says with a little pretend shiver. "I've been here for years, and I'm still not used to it."

I nod in agreement. I don't notice the cold anymore, but I've never forgotten the bone-chilling wind that rips down Michigan Avenue in February, the icy bite of snowflakes rushing off the lake.

She sets an elbow on the table and props up her chin on her fist. "Have you always lived here?"

So she has her own questions. I shake my head and answer, "Not for a long time." I like that she wants to know about me, and that goes against every instinct I possess. "I can't stay in one place for too long. Too many questions arise when I don't appear to age."

"What's it like, being… what you are?" Her expression takes on a dreamy quality and some of the light returns to her eyes.

It's certainly not the idyllic existence she's obviously picturing. Unless she actually enjoys unending bloodlust, violence, political power plays, and loneliness. I doubt her books mention much of that part.

"It's really all I know. Memories of my human life aren't very clear."

"That's not much of an answer," she quips, raising a brow.

I smile wide, letting just a little bit of the demon show through. "Talking about myself is so boring. I'd rather ask more about you."

"You can ask me anything you want. But…" The sly smile and mirthful eyes make her look so young and innocent. " _Quid pro quo, Clarice,_ " she says in a dead-on impression of Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter.

This girl is perfect for me.

Because I honestly want to know if she shares my opinion, I ask, "Mads Mikkelsen or Anthony Hopkins?"

She laughs. "Sir Anthony, I think. But… Mikkelsen is perfect as a young Dr. Lecter. Sexy, too."

I shake my head in amusement. "I agree with everything but the last part."

Shrugging, she says, "To each her own." Then she frowns. "I miss that show. They always cancel the good ones."

"I enjoyed it, too." I find tales of human monsters most entertaining. The real thing — my favorite type of prey — is so much worse than any screenwriter could dream up.

We trade questions back and forth, revealing our honest selves slice by slice, like a slide preparation. We study each other like specimens, exploring every question that comes to mind, poking and prodding and filing away. She reveals a love for biology and science, only a semester short of a Master's in microbiology. I tell her about my first time in medical school. I learn she hasn't always been a good student, how she partied too much freshman year and put up a C average, losing her scholarship. I tell her how I almost slaughtered the entire class when another student sliced open his thumb during cadaver lab.

Last call comes too soon. Neither one of us seems ready to stop our little game of _quid pro quo_ , but I reluctantly stand as the house lights come up and the staff begins to actively encourage the stragglers to get the hell out.

Bella slides off her stool, bringing us teasingly close. This time I can't fight the impulse to touch her, so I reach out to play with the ends of her hair.

"Take me home, Edward."

"One last chance to say no." I dip my head down to whisper the next words in her ear and nuzzle her hair, loving the clean, earthy scent of her shampoo. "I can't promise I won't bite."

She lets out a little frustrated moan and leans into my touch. "Like I said, take me home. Please."

The need to kiss her wells up until I can't stop thinking about how good she felt in the alley, when we were body to body and mouth to mouth. I give in and press my lips to hers slowly, barely banking the lust that simmers like a coal waiting to burst into flame.

"Take it somewhere else, buddy!" security barks, tapping me on the shoulder. I have no problem whatsoever hearing _his_ thoughts, and I am not pleased.

With a growl, I break the kiss and shoot an irritated glance at the clueless imbecile, letting him see just a hint of the demon. The man yanks his hand away like he's been bitten.

Satisfied, I glance down at Bella, tucking her hand safely in mine. I keep her close as we head for the exit, but no one really pays attention when we leave. Everyone else has moved on to other conquests, and most of them are so inebriated they won't be remembering much of anything in the morning. We're just another couple paired off for the night. I catch a few envious thoughts, which I savor; she doesn't want _them._ She wants _me_.

And she'll have me. I just hope she survives it.

"Do you have a car parked nearby?"

"No, I took the El."

Her cheeks are flushed as she looks up at me, whether it's from the chill or the alcohol, I'm not sure. Maybe it's me. I hope it's me. What the hell is this girl doing to me? I don't recognize myself at all, which is troubling. I don't change. Ever.

Then I realize what she just said. "The El stopped running hours ago!" Does she have no sense of self-preservation?

Frowning, she crosses her arms over her chest. "I wasn't planning on being out this late."

"You're still a single woman out alone at night. That's not safe!"

"I'm not alone. I'm with you." Her face and stance gets more stubborn as she settles in for the latest battle of wills.

"And look what happened — you stumbled upon a killer in a dark alley."

"I — I don't think of you that way."

"I wasn't referring to myself. But you _should_ think of me that way." I'm no saint. I've taken countless lives, more than tonight's meal ever did.

"Well I don't. And I wasn't supposed to be alone. I was meeting a friend here, but she never showed."

That was interesting. "Has she ever stood you up before?"

"No, Angela's usually punctual to a fault. I guess something came up and she forgot to call me."

I have my doubts, but I'd be a fool to voice them now. I'm a selfish son of a bitch, and what I really want is to get this girl back to my place and out of her clothes.

We reach the end of the alley, where we're out of sight. "My apartment isn't far. Are you ready?"

Casting me a heated look, she smiles and says, "I've _been_ ready. Who'd have figured you'd be such a chatty Cathy?"

I grin down at her and toss her over my shoulder where she clings onto my back with a little sound of excitement. Her calves wrap around my hips and I take off up the skyline, going for a run that would put the world's champion Parkour enthusiasts to shame. Bella holds me tight, burying squeals and laughter at the back of my neck as I climb, leap, and scale higher, using each building as an obstacle course on my way to the rooftop entrance I keep for nighttime hunts.

It pays to have a secret entrance when I'm returning home after a particularly messy meal. It happens — not because I still can't control the bloodlust, but because sometimes I like it that way. I like making those assholes feel even a fraction of what they've inflicted on their victims. It's quite the flavor enhancer. But it's truly a bitch to get blood out of clothing.

Once I let her down on the terrace, she turns to me, eyes bright and cheeks pink. "You are such a show-off. That was just like _Ninja Warrior!_ "

"I have no idea what you're talking about." It's a lie. Maybe I _was_ showing off. Just a little.

"It's a TV show. It's got this insane obstacle course, like twenty-five foot walls and trampolines and cargo nets and stuff."

Amused, I shake my head and tug her inside. "I haven't seen it."

The door closes behind us and she murmurs, "Then again, if that's an every day occurrence for you, why would you be impressed at human feats of athleticism?"

"I can appreciate their efforts, but you're right. I'm not particularly impressed." I lead her to the den, which serves as a makeshift library. The built-ins on either side of the television are overflowing with books, and the furniture is over-stuffed and sinfully comfortable. Gray-stained wooden floors complete the modern look, but thick area rugs soften and define the space.

She wanders over to the bookshelves and trails her fingertips behind her, absently tracing the worn spines and leathery skin. "You have so many books."

"I have a lot of time for the written word," I admit. At my age, I don't need to feed more than two or three times a month, and when I'm not researching the next kill, I often pass the brightly sunlit days in here with a book.

Bella stops at the end of the shelves and turns to me. Arms down at her sides, posture relaxed, she's open. Waiting. "What about me? Do you have time for _me_?"

I'm beginning to think I won't have time for anything else. "I do." It's all I can say. My throat is too tight.

She just watches me, brown eyes intense and bright, her goddamn beautiful lips blooming into the happiest smile.

I'm on her before she even blinks, forgetting to move slow enough for her human eyes to track. Gathering her up in my arms, I kiss her. She wraps those shapely legs around my waist — fuck, she's short, but she's still all leg — and buries her fingers in my hair. She opens her mouth for my tongue, and my control begins to fray.

I'm playing with her life, but I can't seem to make myself stop.

We just click and she feels so good and I don't know how I ever lived without this. Having her wrapped around me feels better than I'd ever imagined, and when she kisses me like she loves the way I taste, I know I need to get her to a bed like five minutes ago.

As I head down the hall, kissing her the whole way, I realize I've never used my bedroom for its actual purpose. I'm about to remedy that oversight.

As soon as I kick the door shut behind us and set her down on the floor, she becomes the aggressor. She strips me of my pants and then my shirt disappears. Her fingers wander over my abs and slide beneath the waistband of my underwear, but I only let her squeeze me once before I gently grab her wrist and hold her still. "My turn."

She grins, eyelashes fluttering down as I cup her neck in one hand and then draw my fingertips down between her breasts. Leaning into me, she grabs my hip and revels in my searching touch. When I reach the hem of her blouse, I take my time raising it high, revealing a black bra. I strip the shirt over her head and her hair tumbles down around her shoulders, sexy and tangled. Getting my hands back on her, I spread my fingers wide, eager to feel as much of her soft skin as possible. As good as she feels just like this, I need _more_. Grinding myself against her belly feels incredible, but it's not enough. I've never been so hard, never ached and burned like this.

I tuck my fingers into her cute little jeans and make quick work of the button and zipper. Each inch of bare skin I reveal makes my mouth water. Not just for her blood — for her body too. I won't stop until she's spread out for me like a communion offering…

If I sample Bella's body and blood, will I be forever saved?

Can I trust myself? I don't get this close to humans. Unless I'm ending one.

Being close to Bella has nothing to do with that. Her body is pliably warm, her mind is silent, and instead of ugly, violent thoughts, I hear nothing but a heartbeat and a sigh. A barely there moan, a gasp, a whimper and a whisper of fabric on skin.

Bella is gorgeous in plain black cotton trimmed with wisps of lace. It's that tiny bit of lace that drives me crazy. It's just a little bit wild. It's not the most revealing set of lingerie, but I have a great imagination. I can't wait to see the reality outdo the fantasy.

I slide one lacy strap down the slope of her shoulder, and then the other. She reaches behind her back and loosens her bra, but doesn't let it fall. We stare at each other, each of us waiting for the other to take action. I break first, tugging it down and tossing the scrap aside.

Only then do I let myself look at her. All the way down and all the way up, nice and slow.

She's beautiful. I want to see her spread out on top of my bed, and when I'm done staring, I want to join her. I want to help her mess up these sheets that have never been dirtied by anything but dust. My gaze lingers on her neck, where I can see her pulse pounding. I hear it, even feel it in my own chest. Venom rolls in like an ocean wave, molten hot, urging me to bite and claim. Since I won't do that, I'll worship her instead.

I want to consume her. But I'd also like to keep her.

Unaware of the warring impulses in my brain, she's gentler with me than I deserve. Raising a hand, she touches my cheek. "Your eyes are black," she murmurs, almost to herself. "The red was hot, but I think I like this better."

I smile at her naïveté and loom over her body, backing her toward the bed.

"The black color is more dangerous. It means I'm unpredictable, fighting heightened emotions. It means I'm more predator than man. It happens when I'm hunting, feeding, fighting." I've never seen my eyes during this kind of moment, but judging from my super sharp vision — even better than normal — my eyes are probably black as midnight.

The backs of her knees hit the bed and she sinks down on the edge. I kneel and wedge my way between her legs.

She blinks down at me, lips curving in a wicked grin. "Maybe something else that begins with an F?"

"That too, apparently." I breathe her in, skimming my hands up her thighs.

Even kneeling on the floor, I'm tall enough that my forehead is even with herneck. I try not to fixate on the pulsing shadows of her veins and focus a bit lower. Leaning closer, I squeeze her hips and press a line of small kisses across the tops of her breasts. They really are beautiful. A perfect handful, soft and sweet, tipped in pink. I love putting my mouth on her, rubbing my lips over her skin.

I look up to find her head lolled back, the open expanse of her neck exposed like an offering. It's too much. Lurching to my feet, I urge us both to the center of the bed, crawling on all fours behind her, pushing her down as gently as I can manage. She wraps me in her arms and my head falls to that perfect patch of skin between her neck and shoulder.

Feeling her beneath me is so much more than I expected. It's overwhelming. Her _heat_ is unimaginable. Have I ever been this warm? The way we _fit_ …it's heaven.

How can I ever let her go?

I tell myself I can drown in her tonight, get her out of my system and send her on her way a satisfied woman. I can disappear then. It will be as if I never existed.

I wonder if it will be as hard on her as it will on me. If ignorance really is bliss.

Just thinking about being without her makes me ache, and we've only just met.

Bella pushes at the last bits of our clothes, drawing me out of my depressing thoughts. She gets my underwear down past my hips and then uses her feet to finish the job. "Please. Hurry." She's breathing hard, her heart is pounding. It reminds me of the hunt.

The urge to bite makes my throat go tight, and I lock my jaw to keep it from happening. Instead, I focus on removing her cute little panties, eager to get her completely naked.

I have a fantasy to fulfill, after all. If I'm to top one of her book boyfriends, I need to pull out all the damn stops. The primal side of me wants to rip that lace right off, but I don't want to shock her too much. On the other hand, she might think it's hot, if my suspicions are right.

Though she's different than anyone I've ever met, she's like many other women in a few ways: she wants a panty-melting smile; a guy with some confidence in the sack; one who's given countless orgasms (but it was all just meaningless sex until _she_ came along); and she wants me to become obsessed with her magic pussy… which will make me instantly forget my tortured past, repent all my sins, and spend eternity thinking of creative ways to buy her extravagant gifts… and equally creative ways to make her come.

It's pretty fucking intimidating, to be honest.

I hook my finger in those panties and slice right through the material easily. Dragging a knuckle though her wetness, I brush my mouth over hers, then peel the fabric down gently, smoothing my palms all the way down her thighs as she kicks them off. The way she welcomes me back, all long curves and needy hands, holding me close, makes me want to moan.

I wedge a hand between us and grip myself, lining up. I'm _right there_.

"Edward," she whispers, watching me with eyes that beg me to finish this.

"Invite me in," I murmur with a smirk, alluding to the vampire myth.

Breaking out into a laugh, she rolls her eyes. "Oh my God."

With what I hope is a straight face, I ask, "You don't believe me? It's true. You have to invite me in." I manage to stay serious until she quits laughing and her eyes go wide.

"Really?"

"No." I try and fail to smother my laughter.

"Funny." The word is dry, but amused. And then she turns the tables on me. "Are you asking for my permission? To fuck me?"

"I… yes?" I don't know why it comes out as a question. This girl has me in knots. I don't even recognize myself. To sweeten the deal, I rub myself back and forth over her pussy, hissing in a breath at the feel of her wet heat. I hope I can do this without hurting her. I'm about to go out of my mind and I'm not even inside her yet. I get a burst of inspiration and roll to my back, pulling Bella atop me, where I enjoy the phenomenal view. "Better yet, just take what you want."

Grinning, she dives for my lips and kisses me hard, nipping with her teeth and soothing with her tongue. She breathes the curse into my open mouth and nibbles again.

"Bite me harder," I tell her in between kisses, because if I can't do it to her, letting her do it to me is the next best thing. She follows my directions beautifully, tugging my lower lip between her teeth as she pulls away and lets it slip free. Her eagerness probably would have hurt a human male. It only makes me moan and clutch her tighter.

I hold her hips in my hands, rubbing back and forth, occasionally wandering far enough to squeeze her ass in a proprietary grip. The tips of my fingers graze the slickness between her legs from behind, and I trace them over the lips of her pussy as I lick at her mouth and meet her kiss for kiss. She arches into me, and we shift and slide together until everything clicks and this time I'm really on my way in.

Bella tenses and tries to sit up, which actually forces me a little bit deeper. Fuck, she's wet and hot and — she gasps in pain as her hands grab at mine — so fucking fragile. "What's wrong? Are you —"

"I'm okay, I'm okay." There is color in her cheeks as she gives me an embarrassed half smile of encouragement. "Just… go a little slower."

I'm not sure I can. I'm already moving torturously slow for a vampire. She has no idea how much faster I can truly go.

She rises a bit and sinks down a little lower, and I'm more than halfway in. My vision darkens at the edges as I try to process all the sensation, and I almost miss the way she winces as she tries again.

 _Please don_ _'_ _t tell me it won_ _'_ _t fit._ I've never been insecure about my size, but what's the fucking point if I can't get it all the way in?

"Bella?" I sit up and keep her from going any further. "What's wrong?"

She won't look me in the eye.

She can't be a… no way. Not a girl this pretty and sweet. It's a miracle she's single. Even though it makes me a huge hypocrite, the thought of Bella being a virgin scares me. I don't want to hurt her in any way, especially not like that. More importantly, I don't want her to bleed. The predator in me wouldn't object to that at all, and he's a little too unpredictable to give free rein. I have to ask.

"Have you ever done this before?" I try my best to sound soothing and not like my dick is about to explode.

I'm not sure I even want to know the answer. I don't know when I passed the point of no return, but it's long gone. Even as I ask the question, I knead the swell of her ass, urging her closer, silently asking her to take me deeper. While I wait for her to answer, I leave soft kisses on her neck, trail them down to tease her pouty nipples. I tongue one, then the other, smiling to myself when she moans and clutches at the back of my head.

"Once," she admits, her breath catching. "But it wasn't… it wasn't like this."

It better not have fucking been like this. If she's had this world-turning chemistry with anyone but me, I'm not sure I can handle it — which only fuels my need to make this good for her. The best.

It's enough to help me center myself and utilize a little self-control. I have to last, because I need to erase this other male from her body, make her forget he ever crossed her path. Drinking in the soft warmth of her skin, I kiss my way up to her jaw, nuzzle her ear.

I want her to know she's the only one to make me feel this way. I've never been embarrassed about my unfortunately chaste past; more like frustrated and resigned. It's not exactly something to brag about, but I want her to know she's different. When I pull back to ask her if she wants one of my secrets, she nods. Her hair spills in a curtain between us, half hiding her downcast gaze.

"You've got me beat in the experience department."

She looks up in shock, wide whiskey-brown eyes meeting mine. "No way."

I laugh a little. "Yes."

"Wow." The most adorable grin I've ever seen takes over her face. "I'm such a bad girl… stealing your virtue." She kisses me, tiny little pecks, until we both dissolve into laughter.

"You'll be gentle with me, won't you?" We both laugh harder, and for me it turns into a groan — I can feel her laughing from the inside. Trent Reznor knew what he was talking about when he wrote that goddamn song.

We stare at one another, smiles fading, until the air all but crystalizes between us. Just the sight of the tip of her tongue as she wets her lips has my stomach in knots. I know exactly how she tastes, and I need more. I need to move.

My fingers tighten on her hips and I pull down and push up and oh, shit, I'm there and we're finally fucking and I'm never going to stop. She wraps her legs around my waist, letting me get even deeper. In spite of my inexperience, I know what to do. I've seen it in countless thoughts, every single fucking day, but never has this become my very reason for existing until right now.

I do what feels good. I do what makes _her_ feel good. She's vocal, and it's easy to tell what she likes. We both gasp and moan, rise and fall, crash and burn.

She kisses her way up my jaw and whispers in my ear, "You've got some natural talent."

I act like it's not a big deal — I just grin, grab her ass harder, push a little deeper. But yeah, it's a really fucking big deal. Something's happening to me, and I wouldn't stop it if I could. I can't get her close enough, can't touch enough of her, can't hear enough of her sexy little gasps and groans.

I flip her onto her back and follow her over, resuming our rhythm without pause. She arches against me, exposing her neck again, and I can't look away. Her pulse beats furiously, and I swear I can hear it. Lower, I can _feel_ it. Her neck is right there, and my mouth literally waters.

To distract myself, I bury my face in her tits, discovering that the taste of her skin, while heavenly, isn't quite enough to quench my growing thirst. I bring one hand up to cup a breast in my palm, then rub it against my cheek, enjoying her softness. I flick my tongue over the point of her nipple, finding it pulled taut and hard. My throat aches with the need to bite. Taste. Drink.

 _Just a taste. Make sure no venom remains in her system and she won_ _'_ _t change._

What if I can't stop at just a taste? The need to consume her, make her a physical part of me, is becoming too much to ignore. Another notion forms in the back of my mind, one that questions whether one night is enough. Can I really walk away from this? And if I can't, will she hate me if I change her?

"Oh, God, Edward… please," she pants, grabbing at my hair, holding me tight to her chest. "It's okay."

She has no idea of the turmoil roiling in my head, and I have no intention of telling her. I have to turn it off, because I need every drop of focus I can scrape together if I'm going to do this. I'm fighting the battle of my life not to bite her or come without her, try not to fuck her right into the mattress in my excitement. I turn my head away from her neck, because I'm not sure I can keep my mouth off her otherwise. Grateful for all the extra neural connections in my bloodsucker brain, I focus on her body with single-minded determination.

I can feel her pussy tightening, rippling around my dick, and I hope she's as close as I am, because I'm hanging by a fucking thread here.

"Do it," she breathes, wrapping her legs around my waist and digging her heels into my ass.

Then it occurs to me — she wants what I want. She's asking me to drink her.

But I can't do it, not yet. Not while I'm barely in control as it is. Not while the feel of her, the heat, the sweet scent, the slickness and softness of her surrounds me. Because I want this — want _her_ — again and again. Over and over.

So I decide to give her just a taste of what she wants. I pull a mouthful of the top swell of her breast into my mouth, mimicking a love bite but keeping my teeth carefully tucked away. I slide a hand down between us and circle her clit, moaning when my fingers brush against the base of my cock. It doesn't take long before she's crying out my name, her pussy pulling me deep and squeezing tight.

It doesn't take a mind reader to interpret those signs. I give in, let go, and lose myself inside her. This woman. My Bella.

I haven't been alive since that cold spring night in 1918, but tonight, she makes me feel that way.

=#=

Watching her sleep is fascinating. She's tucked into my side, one small hand resting on my chest. Soft breaths puff against my shoulder in a soothing rhythm, mingling with the relaxed pace of her heartbeat in the silent room. I might not be capable of sleeping, but I'm in no hurry to leave this bed.

I have no idea what to make of this development. Ever since I woke up with the ability to see the thoughts of others, I've resigned myself to a life of near solitude. I never dreamed I'd find someone with a mind that was silent to me. After decades and decades of knowing more than I ever wanted to know, I assumed it was an unattainable fantasy. But now that I've found her, all I want in this moment is to know what she's dreaming. Once, she murmurs my name, and I become more curious with each breath she takes.

I want to know if she dreams about being mine forever. Dangerous as the very idea is, it's rapidly becoming all I can think about.

I haven't hesitated to take a human life in a very long time. But taking hers has become a desire that is equally appealing and repellant. I've had a long time to mourn the loss of my own soul, but the very thought of taking hers makes me wish I could actually weep.

But can I face the centuries without her?

As I think myself in circles, there's a noticeable shift in the air. A door clicks. Soft footsteps pad into my apartment. I'm instantly on alert, fight or flight kicking in. Ever since I turned, fight has been the default.

I search out the intruder's thoughts, finding only a litany of Russian literature.

There's only person who knows me well enough to know I find _Dr. Zhivago_ a little overrated.

Making sure not to wake Bella, I slip out of bed and hurriedly slip on a pair of soft flannel pants. I find my pseudo father lounging on the black leather sofa, staring out at the Chicago skyline.

I lean against the kitchen island, grateful for the open-concept of the penthouse. It's designed in a loft style: soaring ceilings, metal duct work, tall windows, and rustic wooden floors. I've come to enjoy the sense of wide-open space created by the way the kitchen, dining, and living areas flow into one another. I make it a point to modernize everything, since the rest of me is forever frozen. Architecture and design that reminds me of my human life is something I tend to avoid.

Silence stretches out between us, each of us unwilling to make the first move. As I wait, I find I'm not consumed with the resentment I used to feel in his presence. I don't envy his calm, his confidence and bearing.

 _How strange. I_ _'_ _ve actually missed him_.

I have no idea what to make of this notion. The only things I've truly desired over the years are solitude and blood, and the reason for this change lies sleeping in the bedroom.

Finally, I break the silence. "A bit late for a visit, don't you think?"

Carlisle smirks, turning golden eyes my way. "Are you referring to the hour or the century?"

I smile back. "Both, I think."

"I wasn't sure of my welcome," he admits. "We weren't exactly happy with each other the last time we spoke."

"Fundamental differences of opinion will do that," I agree.

"Judging by your eye color, I see your thoughts on our diet haven't changed."

I shrug. "They probably never will."

"You always have been decisive," he says, a rueful cast to his voice.

"It's rather easy to be decisive when you can hear everyone else's thoughts."

He looks me dead in the eye, a direct challenge. "But not hers." He tilts his head toward the bedroom.

I'm on instant alert, across the room and yanking Carlisle up by his neck in fractions of a second. In a desperate, almost demonic growl, I demand, "How do you even know about her?"

"Easy, Edward. I'm here as a friend." Covering his shock at my violence, he deliberately relaxes in my hold, staring me right in the eyes. "I mean no threat."

I know it's true. Even when I left to pursue a lifestyle he'll never approve of, he offered me support. It was me who let the silence grow. It was my resentment that kept me from seeking his counsel. I couldn't stand his happiness, the revelry in his relationship with Esme. I was jealous — not of Esme, but of what Esme and Carlisle had together. When Rosalie came along and subsequently found Emmett, it got worse. Alice and Jasper were the last to arrive, but just as sickeningly mated as the other pairs in the Cullen home. Always odd man out, I finally reached my breaking point.

Ever since, I've told myself I don't want the burden of a mate. The constant worry, the desire, the accountability _._ As I come face to face with my mentor once again, I realize: I've been lying to myself for the better part of a century.

I _do_ want a mate, but on my own terms. Bella is my perfect match in all things… except for one. She's human. And that makes a life together almost completely impossible.

I release him, stepping back abruptly. "Why did you pick now to come, Carlisle? It's been a long time."

"Alice sent me. I'm here to make sure you don't make the worst mistake of your life."

I chuckle wryly. Of course Alice would have something to do with this. "And which mistake would that be?"

Calm as ever, Carlisle is unaffected by my sarcastic attitude. "You cannot send her away," he tells me, expression intense. "She's the key to your humanity."

"I'm not planning on it. She's…" I sigh, trying to find the words. "She's so unpredictable. People are _never_ unpredictable."

He nods. "I guess they aren't. Not when you're a mind reader." Then he's quiet, waiting for me to elaborate.

"She makes me laugh. She's beautiful. She gives great hugs. I love the sound of her voice —" I abruptly cut myself off with a scowl when he laughs at me.

"That's the way it is with mates." He drops into a chair and relaxes.

"Is it? I've always tried not to notice." Living with the coven was the definition of awkward. I always saw and heard way too much.

"It is. That… and much more."

"She's everything. How is that? I just met her." I catch myself looking back toward my bedroom, waiting for Bella to appear. I know she's still sleeping (her heart rate hasn't changed), but I miss the feeling of her body tucked against mine.

"Change her, Edward. You need her."

"I can't do that," I mutter, even as the thought of this existence — without her — eats at me. I look back sharply, meeting Carlisle's golden eyes. He flinches, and I know he hates reading my unscrupulous diet in my irises, but I'm not about to change for him.

Been there, done that. Got the bear skin rug. It's in the den.

I make a mental note to have Bella help me break it in.

"Then you'll kill her? An innocent?"

I roll my eyes. "Of course I won't kill her."

"But you won't change her."

I shake my head. "I don't know if I can." How can I take that chance, knowing I might not be able to stop? What if she wants to remain human?

"If the Italians find out you've revealed yourself, you'll both pay the price."

"The Italians will leave us be if it's all kept quiet. I'm not drawing attention to myself. I didn't cause a scene. Bella wouldn't tell a soul about our kind. She'll keep my secrets."

We're both silent for a while, then Carlisle sighs. "Is changing her yourself the only objection?"

"I'm not exactly thrilled at the idea of turning Bella into a killer."

"But you're thrilled with the idea of her dying?"

"No!" I refuse to even entertain the idea.

"I'll change her. If you've chosen her, then she's worth it," he offers.

"You won't touch her," I growl, fuming at the thought of his teeth and lips anywhere near Bella.

"Not if you don't want me to, no. But I'll do whatever I can to help you."

His generosity astounds me. I've always regarded him as a father figure, even though we're estranged. It takes a situation like this to remind me why. "I need to think about it," I finally tell him, raking a hand over my hair.

"Thinking is never a bad thing," he says with a smile. "I must return home. I've a long way to go to Washington." He finally stops blocking me. _I_ _'_ _ve been scouting real estate in New York and Esme is eager to hear about her newest property project._

"Tell the others I said hi."

"I will. They'll be happy to hear you're well."

I give him a nod, and that's all we need. We both know that this time, we'll stay in touch.

= # =

I'm still staring out at the skyline when Bella approaches.

"Was someone here? I thought I heard voices." She's adorable with her bed-rumpled hair, creases from the pillowcase on her cheek. She's wearing a robe from my closet, and looks a hell of a lot better in it than I ever did.

I nod, not knowing what to do with myself. Every cell in my body wants to pick her up and cart her back to the bedroom. I'm not sure she'd be amenable, judging by the scowl on her face. "Just an old friend."

Her eyes dart around, looking for clues as to who was here. I put her out of her misery and add, "Carlisle has a long trip back home. He's anxious to return to his wife."

I can almost see the tension leave her body. Her eyes warm, her smile quick and soft. "Does he visit often?"

Shaking my head, I answer, "Hasn't in about thirty years."

"Oh. Um…"

"I have no idea what to think about it either." I grin, sliding my hands around her waist. I wait a moment, then yank her up against me just firm enough to startle her. She doesn't disappoint me; I'm not sure she ever could. "In fact, I'd rather not think about Carlisle at all," I murmur, dipping my head to her neck. Kissing her there seems only natural, and I savor her warmth against my lips.

Bella tips her head back and presses her body into mine, showing me more trust than I deserve. "Who can think when something feels this good?"

Her words are dreamy, like a sigh, and totally wrong. I can't do anything _but_ think. Countless scenarios play out in my head, and it's all I can do to keep from crushing her fragile body to my own.

What if I lose control?

What if I bite her?

What if I kill her?

What if I _don_ _'_ _t_ kill her?

"Bella, don't." My voice trembles, breaking with the effort it takes to keep her close, yet keep from breaking her.

"Why not?" She pulls back to look me in the eye.

"You don't want… _that_."

"I… I don't know what I want, but I'd try anything once." She tries to look serious. "Except anal. That's just…" she shivers in distress.

I bark out a laugh, which she eventually joins. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do." But… I won't rule out trying to convince her at a later date. Having _all_ of her sounds extremely appealing to me. Trying to convince her will be half the fun.

"But I _do_ want you to bite me. I want to give you what you need."

Shaking my head, I reply, "Being bitten… It's not like you read in books. It won't be sexy or pleasurable. It will be one-hundred percent pain."

"But it's good for _you_ ," she leads, and she's not wrong.

It would be the highest of highs, but I can't take that risk. To pluck at the tenuous threads of my control when they're already all but unraveled could cost her her life.

A lock of sable hair obscures her face, and I tuck it behind her ear. "You have to understand… When we taste human blood, a sort of frenzy begins. It's almost impossible to stop. I don't want to kill you, but there's always a chance I could slip up."

"You won't hurt me." She tucks herself into my chest like I'm her fucking favorite teddy bear from childhood.

God, she has no idea. "I could."

I've already hurt her just by being with her. As Carlisle said, I've broken our most sacred law. If the Italians ever find out about Bella, they won't hesitate to kill us. At the very least, they'd blackmail me into serving in the Volturi Guard for the rest of my existence.

For me, there's really no other choice. Bella needs to keep quiet, and I need to keep my teeth to myself. There are plenty of despicable humans out there to sate my thirst. What Bella satisfies in me is so much more important, and it has nothing to do with her blood. She's the only thing that's made me whole in over a century.

"I won't bite you tonight." She starts to frown but I stop her with a quick kiss. I pull back, grinning when she goes limp against me with a groan of protest.

"So that's a no?" She sounds so disappointed. It's cute when she whines.

 _Fuck, I_ _'_ _m ruined._

I pretend to think, enjoying the way she stews, loving the way she feels in my arms. My answer, when it comes, surprises me. "For now."

Perhaps I can ask a few questions before I do something regrettable. Carlisle might have my answers.

"How long are we talking?" She tips her head back to look me in the eye.

I tilt my head toward the window, where dawn has come and gone in a blush of lavender and pink trimmed with a thick orange slash. "At least until dusk." I'm not ready to let her out of my sight yet. At the moment, I'd really like to take her back to the bedroom and fuck her while she's still wearing my robe.

"Because you can't go out in the daylight?" she asks.

I'm having trouble keeping up with the leaps and bounds her mind takes. I have a feeling I'll never be able to guess what she'll do next.

"That's a myth. Sunlight won't hurt me, but I don't go out on sunny days. Did I leave that one out last night?" I know I didn't, but I can't blame her for forgetting. We covered a lot sitting in that dark little bar. She's had a lot to process in the last twelve hours and thirty-nine minutes, and I don't mind telling her about myself. Except the sparkling thing. I don't ever want to discuss that if I don't have to.

She peers up at me, and I'd give up my prized Aston Martin to know what's on her mind. I've developed something of a love-hate relationship with her silence. She's the only person whose thoughts _do_ matter, but the peace she gives me is blissful. She's easy to be around, and I've never really had that, not to this degree.

"So you're a daywalker. Like Blade." Her eyes glint with sass and I want to kiss that smart mouth.

"I know we covered _this_ last night — at length. I could kick Blade's ass." Just the memory of our spirited "discussion" makes me smile. It was more like a verbal boxing match. She kicked _my_ ass and made me like it.

"No one can kick Blade's ass," she laughs.

"You're forgetting something," I growl, picking her up so I can get us to the bedroom as quickly as possible.

"What's that?" Her voice is muffled because she's kissing my neck. She teases me with her teeth and I've got an instant erection. It appears my hormone levels were also frozen when I changed at seventeen; I just needed to meet the right person to unleash them. Thank fuck I didn't have to spend the last century dealing with this. Seeing everyone else's uncensored thoughts was bad enough.

"Blade is a comic book character. I'm real." I deposit her ass on the bed and loom over her on hands and knees. "In the flesh." A kiss. Just one, a tease. Bella looks at my mouth like she wants to eat me. I like that look on her. She grabs the back of my neck and tugs me closer. I'm only too happy to let her, lying fully atop her.

She presses the tip of one finger to my bottom lip and pulls it down into a little pout. "My, what big teeth you have," she drawls with a hint of smile, her brown eyes bright.

"From comic books to Grimm's fairy tales?"

She shrugs, like it makes perfect sense. And in her quirky way, it probably does. Still, I feel the need to point out her mistake.

"None of my teeth are any bigger than the average human's, you know. I'm perfectly camouflaged, allowing me to get intimately close to my prey. I blend right in."

Disbelief stamped all over her pretty face, she states, "You do _not_ blend in, Edward. I saw you and couldn't keep my eyes off you. That's not being inconspicuous."

"You just proved my point. It got _you_ close enough for me to touch, and I haven't let you go since." I'm not sure I can. Ever.

"You did once. When I stayed behind at the bar."

"As if I wouldn't have come back for you." She couldn't outrun me, but damn, it would be fun to chase her.

Her eyes search mine for a moment, before she takes a deep breath. "So… was this a one-time thing?"

I shake my head. "I don't want it to be."

"I must still be drunk. Or I'm a crazy person," she mutters to herself, making me chuckle.

I lean in and take a whiff of her neck. "Nope. Your blood smells clean."

"Creepy, Edward. And yet… kind of sexy," she sighs when I plant a soft kiss on her neck. Suddenly she pulls back with a scowl. "You didn't refute the crazy person part."

"'We all go a little mad sometimes,'" I reply, because I can't resist. She might be a little nutty, but not the way she's referring to. She's… neurotically cute. And unless she still honestly believes I'm only a drunken hallucination, I think she's very sane.

She blinks in surprise. "You quoted _Psycho._ Wow. Tell me what you really think, Edward." She smacks me lightly on the chest and pulls away with a curse, cradling her hand.

"I knew you'd catch that."

She shrugs, rubbing her hand. "Norman Bates is kinda unforgettable."

"Like me?"

"Yep. A woman isn't going to forget a face like yours, and good old Norman Bates crosses everyone's mind every time they shower in a motel."

I burst out laughing, because it's true: I've done it myself. Though I'm probably the only person who thinks about savoring the terror in the killer's eyes when he realizes he's brought a plastic knife to a gun fight.

"You know I'm right!" she protests, giggling.

Yeah, I know she's right. She's right for me. Now I have to figure out how to get her to stay.

In a bid to convince her she can't live without me, I lean in to tease her lips with mine. I brush them back and forth, almost kissing. She lets out a little frustrated groan that lets me know it's not enough.

Good. I'm having trouble getting enough of her too. It's only fair she should suffer as well.

It's a feat of monumental strength to pull back and peer down at her, but somehow I do. "Stay with me this weekend. Stay the whole week. A month. I have a lot of time on my hands."

Is that too much? How _does_ one ask for forever without scaring away the girl? She's still silent, and I can't tell if it's good or bad.

Finally, she says, "I have class at nine on Monday."

"I'll give you a ride." I kiss her again, and she shivers beneath me. Should I tell her the offer doesn't stop at my automobile?

"I need clothes. And a shower."

"I have an unbelievable shower. The best money can buy." Another kiss. "It really must be experienced to be believed."

She urges me over onto my back, and I go easily because anything that involves Bella on top of me is a good thing. It's my turn to shiver when she's finally astride my hips, covering me in heat. Fuck, she feels so good.

"I… I need to study," she protests, but it's weak.

"I have six Bachelor's degrees, four MA's, and two MD's. I'm a great study partner." I give her my best innocent look. I've been told I have the face of an angel, but the devil is in my bright red eyes. I just pray she doesn't see it.

"My roommate will wonder what happened to me."

Sitting up, I slip the robe from her shoulders, then press the front of my teeth to her neck, teasing her. "Imagine her surprise when you tell her all about the hot sex you had with this handsome, superior, god-among-men. How you spent the night in his bed… getting _fucked_." I whisper the last part in her ear and then lick the shell. "Coming. Over… and over… and over."

"Jesus, Edward. You're awfully sure of yourself," she taunts, but I hear the trembling in her voice.

Strangely enough, I like it. No one else is brave enough to tease me. How is it even possible to want her more than I already do? To _like_ her more. I pull back to look into her eyes, even more desperate to keep her from leaving me. "Stay. Just until Monday morning. Then, if you still want to go, I'll let you." It'll kill me, but I'll do it. As long as Bella is happy, I'll deal — but I'd prefer she be happy _with_ me.

She's so quiet, I start to get nervous.

Finally, she tilts her head to the side. "Say I stay with you all weekend. You mentioned a lot of… um… orgasms. How many are we talking?"

Pink stains her cheeks, and I take a deep breath, savoring the bouquet.

"Until you lose count." Seeing her eyes widen in shock, I add, "Or you ask me to stop. Whichever comes first." _I want to ruin you for anyone else. Make sure you_ _'_ _ll never forget me._

Her heartbeat speeds up and she swallows hard. I follow the movement along the length of her neck, and fight the sting of venom in response. Then my eyes wander lower, where I'm greeted with an indecent amount of cleavage. God, she's gorgeous.

"And if I want, you'll let me go and I can count last night among my fondest memories?"

"Yes." I'm amazed I can say anything past the knot of anticipation in my throat. My voice hasn't cracked since I was fourteen years old, but it does now. Because she's… _important._ And because she's sitting on my dick _._ "What are you thinking?" I have to know.

"That I'd be an idiot to leave." One hand comes up, the feel of her soft fingertips on my cheek like silk. "If you want me to stay, then I will."

"Stay. Please." My voice doesn't really even come out this time.

She nods, pinching her lower lip between her teeth. I pull her down to me to lick away the sting before she can break the skin, but I'm too late. I groan into her mouth, sucking at the salty-sweet blood that trickles from the tiny wound. I try to keep any venom from entering her body, and because she's not writhing in pain, I know I'm successful.

From the moment I awoke craving the taste of blood, I swore I'd never condemn another person to this half-life. As I open my eyes to see the black velvet slash of her lashes against her pink cheek, something occurs to me.

Is it only a half-life because I spent it without Bella?

She pulls back and it takes everything I have to let her. Such a tiny taste isn't enough. I need more. My eyes are locked on her lips, watching raptly as another drop of blood wells up and trickles over the curve. The need to bite and drink wars with my need to protect, to keep her human. I raise a trembling finger to wipe it away, looking into her eyes as I lick away her essence. Pure pleasure races through me and an animalistic growl rumbles in my chest.

"Yes," Bella whispers, her breath amplifying the combined scents of woman, sex, and blood. It's too much.

I need to put some distance between us, and I mean to do just that. Just one more sip…

I kiss her again, hold her tight, and before I realize what I'm doing, I've rolled her to her back, pinning her to the bed. We break the kiss and stare at one another, lips smeared with crimson. My mind screams at me to make her truly mine, and I'm quickly losing the will to resist. Now that I know the taste of her, I'll never get enough.

Bella reaches down, pushing at my pants until my erection springs free. It's one moment in time, one heartbeat as we freeze, waiting. She nods almost imperceptibly, murmuring, "Please."

I plunge into her, licking at her lips at the same time. Her fingers twist in my hair and she pushes down on my head, guiding me to her neck. I let her.

I hold her close, take us both to the edge. And as we tumble over, I sink my teeth into her neck.

There was never a choice. I am irrevocably hers, and she will be mine. Forever.

A/N: "Eating the rude" is taken from the NBC TV show "Hannibal."


End file.
